


The Rose In The Crown

by ShannaraIsles



Series: The Rose In The Crown [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Including giveaway winners' characters, Love and Marriage, Rating will go up when we reach chapter 5, Romance, Sequel, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: Summerday is always a day of joy, a day of marriages made and love affirmed. And for Ferelden, this Summerday is one to be remembered. King Alistair, ten years a king with no heir in sight, will finally marry his chosen bride.Sequel to A Rose By Any Name. Featuring the winners of my giveaway!





	1. Chapter 1

Spring had come to Ferelden at last, bringing with it warm sun and the promise of a long summer to follow.

Even the weather seemed to be celebrating with the people as they paused in their daily work for just a few days. Villages and towns across the country raised flags, festooning their streets with bright bunting, preparing to celebrate not only the many weddings due to take place on Summerday, but also the greatest wedding of their time - the marriage of their own King Alistair to Princess Felicita of Antiva. Though many of them had never even _seen_ their king, they wished him well and happy in his marriage, looking forward to the day when he announced a new prince to celebrate over in the fullness of time. They could not help but imagine how very excited he must be, to be so close to the fulfillment of his own happiness after so many years alone. They might even have known about it ... _if_ the palace staff could find him from one hour to the next.

As the date of the wedding drew nearer, it was becoming harder and harder to locate the king outside the hours he spent working. Worse, when he disappeared, he took his betrothed with him, as well as little Lady Maria, his new ward. With the palace in a state of barely contained chaos, anticipating the arrival of their most important guests for the celebration to take place in just two days' time, no one was admitting to seeing the king and his small family since breakfast. Or perhaps the staff were in on it, keeping the bride and groom from added stresses in the run up to the big day.

Because at least _one_ person knew exactly where the king was as lords and ladies panicked about his absence ... the kennel master.

The kennels had welcomed their own newcomers just a few weeks ago - the king's own mabari, Lady, had given birth to five strong pups, sired by the Warden-Commander's hound, Monster, almost as soon as he had arrived in Denerim with his mistress to oversee the Month of Ladies, as it was now known - the Great Bride Hunt that had made this wedding possible. While Fergus, Teagan, and Anora were apparently unaware of it, this was where Alistair could be found when he disappeared from their reach in past days, and this was where he was now, lying in the warm hay with his head on his princess' lap, having his face licked with more enthusiasm than care by two boisterous mabari pups. Maria was sat cross-legged not so very far away, giggling as she played with the remaining three, and Lady, proud new mother that she was, had taken up station beside Fabs, her muzzle resting affectionately on the princess' shoulder. It was a playful, restful scene, especially for two people who had every reason to be particularly nervy about today's expected guests.

"Oh, so _this_ is where you're hiding."

Fabs raised her eyes from her silent adoration of Alistair's relaxed face at the sound of a familiar voice they had not expected to hear today, glancing back down to see her beloved's lips part in a happy grin at the sight of Demelza Tabris leaning against the stall door. One of the puppies took the opportunity to lick _inside_ his mouth, setting the king to spluttering along to the piercing giggles from Maria as she rocked on the floor.

"Serves you right for kissing someone you're not marrying in a couple of days," was Dem's mild response to this sight, though her grin brightened as she nodded to Fabs. "Princess."

"You know my name, Warden-Commander," Fabs objected with a warm smile. "I do wish you would use it."

"Interesting point of view, that," the elven Warden pointed out with a teasing arch of her brow. "You don't use mine."

Fabs' eyes narrowed above her own smile. "Well then, _Demelza_ ," she countered, rising to the bait. "What was my name again?"

Dem laughed, shifting from her lean to climb over the half door and into the stall with them. "All right, _Felicita_ ," she responded, "but I prefer Dem."

"Duly noted."

Fabs chuckled, raising her hand to pet the furry head on her shoulder as Lady huffed her own greeting to her master's best friend. Dem's hand joined hers for a brief moment, just long enough to say hello to the mabari queen before Alistair claimed her attention.

"I thought you were on your way to Tevinter and beyond?" he asked, pushing himself to sit up with a handful of pup.

Dem grinned at her friend. "Would you like me to go?"

"No!" Alistair's rush to insist that she stay was forestalled only by the laughter that erupted from his elven friend in answer, making him roll his eyes. "You know what? Yes. Go away if you're just going to tease me."

"My, my, aren't we testy today?"

Alistair sighed at the look on Demelza's face. "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized easily. "I'm not ... I didn't mean to be rude."

"We are both a little on edge," Fabs said, rescuing him from having to explain. "My parents are expected today."

"Oh, I see. Meet the parents." Dem nodded to herself, though her grin didn't fade. "You do have other guests arriving too, you know."

"Well, obviously, but I've met the Inquisitor," Alistair pointed out. "And Leliana doesn't frighten me anymore."

"She's here," Dem told him, and snorted with laughter at the sudden lurch this presented from her friend. "Oh, calm down. She stopped in the Chantry to have a few words with the Grand Cleric before she has to come and be all official at you."

"The Divine is here already?" Fabs asked, her eyes wide.

For a moment, it seemed surprising that the princess should be so startled by the prospect of meeting Divine Victoria. But Divine Victoria was also Sister Leliana, the Nightingale, the Left Hand of Divine Justinia. Fabs was expecting to meet a shadow from the past Divine's lifetime, a bard whose exploits in Orlais were close to legend, and more than that, a very old friend of the man who would soon be her husband. Leliana was much more the the Divine for the princess of Antiva - she was a legend, an icon, and more than a little intimidating.

Alistair was already aware of her nerves when it came to meeting such an illustrious person, for his response to her unnerved query was to reach over and claim her hand in his own, raising her knuckles to his lips for a softly reassuring kiss.

"I promise you, love, she is not so terrifying as your imagination paints her," he said in his warm way. "She is probably more excited about our getting married than we are!"

Fabs relaxed visibly as Alistair offered up his reassurance, but there was no denying she was more than a little starstruck about meeting Divine Victoria, the legend in her own lifetime. Still, she smiled at her betrothed's gentle kiss to her hand, leaning toward him unconsciously as Dem smirked to herself.

"Well, you can't hide here all day," the elven Warden pointed out. "Leliana stopped off in Skyhold on her way here - the Inquisitor and his party are just being settled, but they'll be expecting a welcome pretty soon."

Fabs perked up at this news; she had been looking forward to the Inquisition party arriving for several days now. "Did he bring Josephine with him?" she asked, hopeful that this old friend would be one of the representatives included in the invitation to the wedding.

Dem shrugged. "How would I know? I don't do all that diplomacy stuff."

"No, you just laugh behind my back while I get it wrong," Alistair pointed out with a grin, scooping the puppies off his lap as he pushed himself to stand. He offered his princess a hand. "Let's go and get the official business over with. I know you're dying to gossip about Antivan underwear or whatever with your friend."

Maria looked up a little mournfully from her own doggie companions as Fabs rose with Alistair's help, her hands lingering in his. There was no disguising her smile as he took the opportunity to steal a kiss before Maria's voice drew their attention away from one another.

"Do I have to go, too?" the little girl asked, her expression making it perfectly plain that she hoped she would not have to leave the kennel for a good long while yet.

Fabs glanced at Alistair with a fond smile, reaching down to gently tweak the Rivaini child's chin affectionately. The past two months had brought the little girl ever closer to her heart; she could not now imagine life here in Ferelden without the child who would be her own adopted ward in just two days' time.

"No, little one, you do not have to come with us right now," she promised. "But later, you will have to be a little lady for the Divine and the Inquisitor, and my parents, too."

Maria bit her lip worriedly. "Will they like me?"

Alistair chuckled, bending double to bounce the tip of his nose against hers. "If they don't, I'll challenge them to a duel," he told her in a comical tone. "Me against all four of them, what do you think?"

The little girl grinned back at him. "I think you will be all bloody and bruised for your wedding day, Your Alistairness," she responded in a cheerful tone, utterly bemused when Dem burst out laughing at the open declaration of Alistair's new epithet from his adopted ward.

"I think you're right," Alistair agreed, ignoring his friend for a moment. "Will you do us the honor of joining us for the midday meal, Lady Maria?"

"Can I bring my puppy?"

Fabs interjected at this point - she was already caught between Alistair and some of his nobles when it came to appropriate behavior; she was determined to make sure Maria didn't join in with his occasionally silly ideas.

"No, little one, they are too small to be away from their mama right now," she reminded the little girl fondly. "In another month, they will be big enough. And perhaps one of them will have imprinted on you. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Will it be my best friend for always if it does?" Maria asked hopefully.

"Oh, absolutely," Dem agreed with enthusiasm. "You've seen me and Monster. And I didn't meet him until I was sixteen!"

Cheered by this thought, Maria was quite content to let them all leave the stall and the kennels, absorbed in the antics of the five pups as they swarmed around her in the wake of the adults' leave-taking. Fabs couldn't help but be glad that the little girl was so easily contented with her four-legged friends; they would provide a good sanctuary for her over the next few days, while the adults were engaged with important guests and the whole ... _wedding_ thing. As a working king, Alistair could not take more than a few days away from his duties to celebrate his own marriage, but for those few days, they were going to leave Denerim and stay in a villa on the coast, overlooking the sea. Maria would be staying in the capital, under the care of Fergus Cousland officially, but more likely in the company of Ceri and Ciara, both women she trusted without question. After all, when Alistair and Fabs returned, it would be as her married pseudo-parents. That was worth a few days without them.

Fabs still couldn't quite believe it - that in just two days' time, she would be Alistair's wife, Ferelden's queen, her own mother's equal in rank and her superior in responsibility. It was ... overwhelming, in a way. She had come to Ferelden at her father's instigation, unaware that her invitation was to a contest for the hand of the king. She had been determined not to engage in that contest yet, as she grew to know the man behind the crown, her heart had changed her mind. She had almost destroyed her chance by giving into doubt, only to have him chase her through the streets just to make sure she didn't leave. And now, two months later, she was within days of accepting the prize - not the crown, though she knew some of the other ladies had wished for it, but the _man. Her_ man, her Alistair, who needed her love more than he could say ... who loved her in his own turn with a sweet devotion she knew she would never feel worthy of.

She knew she was lucky in the approval of his friends, too - that Demelza and Fergus seemed to like her and approve of her influence over him; that Arl Teagan was not automatically set against her. Luck had also been with her in the settling of her own new friendships - of Ciara and Ceridwyn and Anora, who had all been close by her whenever she had needed them these past two months. Indeed, Ciara had happily accepted an invitation to be the queen's first lady, and Anora slid easily into the role of mentor and teacher, and trusted confidante, cementing the friendship that had begun with little more than curiosity. She was not as alone here as her mother had feared she might be. In just a few hours, she would be able to reassure her parents in person that they had no need to fear for her future.

But for now, there were other important guests to greet - Inquisitor Doshiel Lavellan and Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, to be precise. Though Divine Victoria would likely join them within the hour, Fabs could turn her nerves to one side and focus on the others. She had not seen Josephine for years, not since the woman had been sent to Orlais as the official ambassador from the Antivan court, but correspondence had never ceased between them, even during the widespread conflict that had brought the Inquisitor to prominence within Thedas politics. Of course, Fabs had other friends in the Inquisition, too - friends whom she had never met but had shared letters with for years, friends who had imparted hints that Josephine was a good deal closer to the Inquisitor than she herself had intimated. Fabs had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing this for herself.

And there they were, waiting in the private royal audience chamber with Anora and Teagan, making small talk together with one another. Fabs couldn't help a curious look at this fifth member of the party. The woman looked familiar, though she was sure they had never met. But there was something in the dark curl of her hair, the dusk-dark warmth of her skin, the bold, hopeful smile she sent toward the Antivan princess ... yes, she _was_ familiar, yet Fabs could not place her.

"Your majesty, your highness," Anora was saying as they entered, Alistair belatedly releasing Fabs' hand with as much obvious reluctance as she felt. "May I present Inquisitor Lavellan, and Ambassador Montilyet."

"We've met," Alistair reminded her without rancor, offering his open hand to Doshiel Lavellan as a warm smile crossed his face. "Inquisitor, it is a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce you to my betrothed, Princess Felicita of Antiva?"

Fabs felt her mouth snap shut with an audible _thunk_. Doshiel Lavellan was tall for an elf, equaling her in height, built broad across the shoulders, strong with muscle honed for wielding his weapon of choice. The vallaslin markings on his face were a rich purple in color, though their meaning was lost on her, almost blending into the twilight-dusk of his weathered skin until they caught the light. He turned to her, bowing low, and she had to force herself not to look at his left hand - the hand where the mark of Andraste still dwelt, so they said.

"Your highness," he said, his lilting tone strangely soothing from the impassive face he presented. "Thank you for inviting us to your wedding."

"After all you have done for Thedas, for Ferelden, Inquisitor, it should be no surprise that you were invited," the princess answered, aware that Alistair was grinning at her wide-eyed hero-worship. "Were it not for you, we would not have this peace to enjoy together. You are very welcome."

Doshiel nodded to her, a half-smile illuminating his face briefly before his companion stepped forward.

"Am I welcome also, _princesa?_ " Josephine asked, her tone teasingly arch, and Fabs felt her awkwardness melt away.

She surged forward to embrace an old friend, laughing as Josephine hesitated at the impropriety before returning that embrace with a warmth she had missed since they had last seen one another.

"It has been so long, Josie," Fab enthused softly, drawing back with a bright smile. "It is so good to see you."

"And I, you," Josephine responded, her eyes crinkling in affectionate amusement. "The little trouble-maker of the Antivan palace has grown into her potential, I see."

"Trouble-maker?" Alistair asked, curiosity firing in his voice and gaze.

"I did not make _so_ much trouble," Fabs began to defend herself, but Josephine laughed, cutting her off.

"You released four feral kittens into the kitchens on your sister's wedding day," the ambassador reminded her in amusement, turning to add for the king's enjoyment, "Fur _everywhere_. In the dessert that was served, as well."

Alistair's grin deepened as he considered his bride. "I have to admit, this is a side of her I have not heard much about," he said merrily. "I think you and I shall have a great deal to talk about, ambassador."

"I look forward to it, your majesty," Josephine answered with smooth aplomb, turning to draw her other companion forward. "May I introduce my assistant, Lady Marguerite Dujardin? She - "

_"Marguerite!"_

As the name dropped, Fabs knew who this woman was. No, they had never met, but they had been friends for years, communicating by letter with increasing intimacy as they grew older and drew away from the friends insisted upon by family and duty. She had never thought she would actually meet the Orlesian beauty she had befriended from miles away, yet here she was. And Fabs being who she was, there was only one way to greet such a wonderful surprise.

Marguerite was already laughing as the princess launched herself across the room to throw her arms about her, the two women swaying as they embraced one another tight.

"It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, princess," she began, but Fabs shook her head.

"No, my dearest friend, you must use my name," she insisted. "I am Felicita, or Fabs, and you are Marguerite. And I am _so_ delighted to finally meet you!"

She surged close again for another warm embrace, no doubt thoroughly bemusing the others in the room. Over her shoulder, she heard Josephine laugh a little helplessly.

"I see you already know each other," the ambassador was saying as she turned back to Alistair.

Detaching herself from Marguerite, though only briefly, Fab turned to the others with a warm smile.

"Forgive my enthusiasm," she apologized. "Marguerite has been a good friend of mine for many years, though we have never met in person. It is such a wonderful surprise to have her here!"

Beside her, Marguerite dropped a belated curtsy to the king, apparently as amused by the princess' greeting as everyone else. Alistair's smile relaxed as he inclined his head to the Orlesian woman.

"Any friend of Fabs' will always be a welcome sight in Denerim, Lady Marguerite," he assured her. He glanced at Fabs herself, catching her eye with a knowing glint in his own. "I am sure you have much to talk about. Please, don't mind us."

With a last nod to his betrothed, he turned back to the Inquisitor and Josephine, Dem at his side, and Fabs took the opportunity to draw Marguerite over to the window, clinging to her hands in delight.

"How is it that I did not know you were coming?" she demanded merrily. "I would have asked you to be a part of the wedding party, had I known!"

Marguerite's dark eyes were dancing with mischievous delight of her own as she answered. "I did not know until a day before our party left Skyhold," she told her friend. "Josephine's other close assistant volunteered to remain behind and keep on top of the Inquisition's political struggles in her absence, I think purely because Commander Rutherford also remains at Skyhold."

"Oh, you are talking of the woman out of place, yes?" Her interest piqued, Fabs moved to make herself comfortable on the window seat, drawing Marguerite to sit with her. "Has the commander asked her yet, do you know? And has the Inquisitor asked Josephine yet? There are so many questions left unanswered since the last letter I received from you!"

Marguerite laughed gently, patting her hand. "I do not know everything that happens in Skyhold, your- ... Felicita," she said, correcting her address almost before she had begun it. "But no, I do not believe either question has been asked yet."

"And what of your own knight-captain?" Fabs pressed, eager for gossip face-to-face rather than in written form. "Do you hope for such a question yourself?"

Marguerite's dusky skin flushed prettily as she glanced to the window for a moment. "Perhaps," was all she would say. "Now that the world is calmer and I am no longer required to be patriotic to my homeland, perhaps I am thinking of calling another land home."

Fabs actually squealed, reduced to the status of an over-excited child at this exhilarating news. "But why did I not know you were coming?"

"I thought to surprise you, princess," was Marguerite's answer, trimmed with a soft huff of laughter at the mildly affronted look she received in reply. "I am so pleased to be here, and to see you so happy in yourself. You have been searching for a long time. I am very glad that you have found purpose in life and in love. You have been alone for too long."

Without quite realizing it, Fabs' gaze slipped to where Alistair was seated with the rest of the party, her own smile softening at the sight of his animation in conversation. Marguerite's squeeze of her hand brought her back to her companion, only to find a sly, knowing smile quirking at her friend's lips.

"You love him very much," the Orlesian beauty said quietly. "And he adores you. It is plain to see within moments. Even if I had not had your accounts of these past months to forewarn me, I should have seen it. I am not at all surprised that the people are so very pleased that you will be their queen."

At this, Fabs felt the little knot in her stomach tighten, her smile fading just a little. "I am afraid, Marguerite," she admitted in a low voice. "I never dreamed that love and marriage would make me a queen, yet here I am. I do not know what to expect of the role, what they expect of me. I am so very afraid I will let them down."

"You will not let them down," Marguerite responded near instantly, leaning closer to keep their conversation from reaching any other ears. "They will not expect you to know from the beginning exactly what to do and how to do it. They know you are trading life as a princess in a state that has little use for its monarchy for life as a queen in a land where royalty works every day for the good of the people. And they also know that alliance with Antiva through you affords their land additional safety, even without the friendships you have made over the years. The simple fact of your _being_ is enough for them, and will remain so even as you transition into the role you have accepted by loving the king."

"You seem so very confident of that," Fabs murmured, uncertain if she should share that confidence. When she allowed herself to think on what her life would be in just two days' time, she felt overwhelmed.

Maguerite squeezed her hands once again. "I have moved in noble circles all my life, Felicita," she reminded the princess. "I have _seen_ what it takes to truly be a ruler. You have it in you to be a great queen. And you will not be alone. You have your Alistair, and the friends you have made here. Ferelden will not suffer under your rule, I am certain of it."

Fabs felt the smile rising before it showed on her face, too excited to be a wife to allow fears of being a queen to overwhelm her happiness. "I do have Alistair," she agreed. "I do not know quite how or why he loves me, but he does. If a wife's duty is to support her husband, then I will do so with a light heart, because I love him so dearly."

"I should think you would do it even if it wasn't a wife's duty," Marguerite commented in a wry tone. "I have never known you to shrink from any opportunity to help anyone, especially if you love them."

It was Fabs' turn to laugh at this. "Ah, but you did not know me when I was a selfish, spoiled little girl," she pointed out, the glint of her own eyes as teasing as it was charming.

"True, but we were all selfish, spoiled little girls once," was Marguerite's wise response.

"Indeed."

This new voice startled Fabs into looking up, surprised to find a red-haired woman in a simple Chantry robe suddenly standing nearby. The woman was smiling at them both - a little guarded, perhaps, but smiling, nonetheless. She was a stranger to the princess, however.

"Leliana!" Alistair burst out, rising to his feet with a truly happy smile on his face. "How did you get in without being announced?"

Divine Victoria - for that was who this redheaded woman was, it seemed - laughed a rich, delicate laugh as she turned to greet her old friend, the king, clasping his arm and pulling him into a rough hug.

"Do you really wish to know the answer to that, Alistair?" she asked in a light tone. "I was not always as I am."

"Still crazy?" he asked in turn, accepting the light thump of her fist to his arm with a low chuckle.

"Still listening to the Maker," was her reply.

Others in the room were rising to greet her - to greet a woman who was known to them all in some way. Fabs rose with them, but hung back, her gaze following the legend that was Leliana, Divine Victoria, Sister Nightingale, as she greeted her friends from the Inquisition, acquaintances from the past, and ... She almost gasped when Divine Victoria clasped both hands to Demelza Tabris' face and kissed her tenderly, suppressing the sound before it could be heard as the memory flashed of the loving relationship the two women shared. A relationship that was still extant, it seemed, despite the rise in the bard's status. When the Divine turned to her, Fabs felt her knees automatically bend, the curtsy coming from the deepest ingrained instincts that had been trained into her from birth.

"So this must be Princess Felicita," Leliana said, looking her over with an appraising expression in her eyes. "Do stand up, dear. There is no need to stare at my shoes today - they are nothing special."

Hesitantly, Fab raised her eyes, slow to rise from her curtsy as she glanced toward the others in the room. Dem was grinning behind her hand; encouraging smiles abounded from every person around them who considered Leliana a friend. Even Alistair gestured for her to speak freely, despite knowing that his betrothed was more than a little starstruck when it came to this Divine.

"Most Holy, I -"

"Oh, there is no need to call me that." Leliana waved a hand dismissively. "In private, princess, here among friends, I am still Leliana." She tilted her head back to meet Fabs' astonished eyes. "And I will be very pleased to call you my friend. Alistair has needed someone to hold his hand since before I met him."

"I _can_ function on my own, you know," Alistair objected in amusement, opening his hand automatically as Leliana nudged Fabs back to his side.

"Nonsense, Alistair, you will always be a clumsy little puppy to me," the redhead teased him cheerfully.

Dem snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes. "Believe it or not, princess, this is actually an improvement in their relationship."

"In that case, I am not entirely sure I wish to know what their relationship was before," Fabs managed, pressing herself into Alistair's side as her fingers tangled with his. She was surrounded by heroes and legends. If the Champion of Kirkwall walked in now, she thought she might possibly have to go and hide under the nearest bed.

Alistair laughed, tilting his head to touch his temple to hers. "I wasn't the most ... discerning ... of people when we first met," he told her. "I may or may not have decided she was crazy right from the start."

"And maintained it for a decade," Leliana added, her fond amusement plain. "Oh, it is so good to be back among friends. Inquisitor ... Josie!"

As the redheaded Divine rushed to embrace Josephine, drawing the attention of the room with her, Alistair raised Fabs' hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to her thumb as he sought her slightly wild-eyed gaze.

"There now, you see?" he murmured to her. "She's not that intimidating, is she?"

Fabs couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her.

"Says the man who traveled with her for months long before she became the legend she is now," she countered, grateful for the way he stayed with her, rather than follow his friends back to their seats. "You have powerful friends in interesting places, _mi amor_. You cannot blame me for admiring them as I do. Their stories have shaped our world."

"I suppose you're right," he conceded, albeit begrudgingly. "You still like me best, though, don't you?"

"Alistair ..." Laughing, she turned to him, reaching up to trace her fingertips along his cheek. "You need a shave."

He sighed. "I always need a shave." His own hand covered hers, pressing her palm to his cheek. "Still like me best?"

"I _am_ marrying you in two days," she reminded him, her voice soft with affection as she leaned close to brush the tip of her nose to his. "I love you, silly man."

"I will never grow tired of hearing that," was his reply, a grin hiding the waver of his certainty as he closed the distance to kiss her tenderly. "Two days, my fabulous Fabs."

"Two days," she agreed, adding out of pure mischief, "And my parents."

His groan made her laugh as they turned back to their current guests. Though, yes, her parents were arriving in just a few hours, and more guests would also be making themselves known right up until the evening meal tomorrow, this short time could be set aside for old friends that were as close as family. And that was a good thing, Fabs knew. Her soon-to-be husband had no family he could call upon, yet the world was littered with friends who would drop everything to aid him if he chose to call on them. _That_ was a family worth the having, she knew, a family she was proud and privileged to be allowed to join in some small way.

Two days was too long and too short a time to wait, yet when those two days were over ... her Alistair would never be alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of [fabula_prima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabula_prima/pseuds/fabula_prima)!


	2. Chapter 2

"You seem a little agitated, your majesty."

Alistair's head snapped up from his annoyed perusal of the roses beneath the window, a little ashamed that he had been caught fidgeting. He'd been doing so well all day pretending that he was fine. But he really wasn't fine. He was getting married tomorrow, to a beautiful, intelligent, funny princess, and he couldn't get away from the thought that she might possibly come to her senses in the next twenty hours or so and leave him at the altar. He couldn't even seek her out for a little personal reassurance - Fabs was closeted away with her parents today. He wouldn't see her until she entered the great hall on her father's arm tomorrow. Right now, that felt a lifetime away. Anything could happen between now and then.

And now he'd been caught being irritated at his own downcast thoughts by a woman he had never even heard of before yesterday.

Marguerite Dujardin might be Orlesian, which should count against her, but she was also a loved friend of his betrothed, a trusted assistant to the Inquisitor's ambassador, and at last night's meal, had proved to be more than entertaining enough to keep a meal shared by the soon-to-be-weds and the bride's parents from becoming awkward in the first place. She was also, unfortunately for him, at a loose end today in Fabs' absence, and far too observant for his peace of mind.

"I'm told it's perfectly natural to be a little agitated the day before your wedding, Lady Dujardin," he answered, turning to face the dusky-skinned beauty as she joined him by the window. "This time tomorrow, I may be a married man."

" _Will_ be, your majesty," Marguerite corrected him, her smile understanding but amused beneath one raised brow. "Only the sixth Blight could prevent the princess from exchanging her vows for yours tomorrow."

Alistair flushed, aware he was not exactly behaving like a king should. There was an openness to this woman that invited confidences; if she hadn't been Fabs' friend, he was sure he wouldn't have continued as he did.

"I miss her," he blurted out. "Ridiculous, isn't it? It isn't as though we spend every hour of the day together, but half a day without a sight of her, and I'm pining and panicking like a child."

Marguerite's smile gentled in the face of his rather sweet confession. "I am sure she misses you with the same passion, your majesty," she assured him. "But it is an Antivan custom for the bride to seclude herself with her family the day before she leaves them for good."

"I'm hardly going to deny her contact with her parents," he protested, but Marguerite held up a hand to still his protest.

"That is not what I mean," she said quietly. "This is the last day when she will be exclusively their daughter, the last day of wearing her title of Princess of Antiva. In marrying you, she must renounce her allegiance to Antiva. Her home from tomorrow will be Ferelden; her family from tomorrow must be her husband before her parents. A woman sacrifices a great deal to marry, your majesty, and a princess, even more. But that does not mean the sacrifice is not worth making."

His mouth worked silently for a moment or two, shame coloring his expression as he finally managed to say, "I ... hadn't considered that."

And it _was_ shameful, he realized, not to have truly considered how much Fabs' life would change as of tomorrow. She had been in Ferelden for three months - three wonderful months, for two of which he had been privileged to get to know her and her occasionally strange but ultimately entertaining hobbies and preferences - and in that time, he had seen her only as she was here. He had watched her learning to get to grips with Ferelden politics, mingling with the nobles of the court and winning them over with her charm and warmth, reacting to the easy love of his subjects with that same warmth, growing into her role as guardian to Maria. Yet not once had he given thought to the life she had left behind and would never return to, the life she had been born to and raised in. She had told him stories of Antiva, and he had never tied them to the homesickness she must be feeling; so focused on Summerday and finally being able to call her his wife that he had not considered how huge a change all this must be for her. In a matter of hours, she would leave her old life behind and begin something brand new, and he, for all his flaws and mistakes, would be her only true anchor for a long time to come. It was a suddenly very humbling realization that made all his annoyed agitation flee.

Marguerite was smiling as she watched him come to this conclusion.

"I have no fear for my friend here in Ferelden," she told him in a gentle tone. "Because she is loved. And that, your majesty, is all she needs to bloom."

She curtsied to him, her smile almost unnervingly knowing as she stepped away, returning to her own party. Alistair watched her go, frowning thoughtfully. _How did an Orlesian noblewoman become so nice?_ he wondered to himself, glancing down as a soft harrumph at his side declared that Lady had abandoned her pups for an hour or so to investigate the visitors to the palace. He smiled at his favorite hound, leaning down to pat her flank fondly as she butted at him.

"You'll help me look after Fabs, won't you, love?" he asked the mabari, who looked at him as though just asking that question was the stupidest thing he could possibly have said.

He laughed, bending to let his beloved hound lick his cheek. Footsteps crossing the quiet gallery drew his attention, urging him to straighten as Lady Ciara approached him with a bright grin on her face.

"Your majesty, another guest has arrived," she told him, her voice brimming with delight. "An old friend, in fact. You remember Callista, don't you?"

Alistair bit down on a grin of his own. _Who could forget Callista of Nevarra and her distracting bosom?_

"She's here?" he asked, his brows raising with actual pleasure. As intimidating as Callista had been for a couple of weeks, he had learned to appreciate her wit and intelligence, and felt deeply grateful that she had not actively attempted to seduce him into marriage.

Ciara's pale eyes danced with laughter as she answered. "She is, and she has brought a guest of her own," she informed him. "Shall I tell the steward to allow them in?"

"Of course! She's very welcome," was Alistair's response, his curiosity piqued by the sheer mischief in Ciara's expression.

The quiet lady from Amaranthine had come into her own since the announcement of the king's engagement, seeming to delight in her new status as first lady of the queen-to-be's household, which protected her from any further marital interference from her family as well as keeping her close to the friend she had made in the princess. It was a pleasure to see her so confident; Alistair had high hopes of the quality of the nobility in Amaranthine raising by several degrees when Ciara finally returned to them after her education at Fabs' hands.

He watched as the girl returned to the far end of the gallery, as she embraced the familiar dark-haired form that could only be Callista, and curtsied to the guest Callista had brought with her, gesturing for them to go and present themselves to the king even as he moved to meet them halfway. Callista's bold smile was surprisingly reassuring to see, to note that she had not changed much at all in the past couple of months. She curtsied to him.

"We meet again, your majesty," she said warmly. "Under far better circumstances, I must say. You look very good for a man forced into marriage."

Alistair snorted with laughter. He should have expected that this particular woman would not stand on ceremony, not after a month spent deftly sabotaging Delphine's matrimonial hopes.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Callista," he greeted her in turn, taking her hand to kiss it without needing to be prompted. "Fabs will be so pleased you're here."

"I am very much looking forward to seeing her again, though I doubt it shall be before tomorrow," Callista replied, apparently better aware of Antivan customs than he had been before King Fulgeno and Queen Mireia arrived. "I understand Ceri is still here, as well?"

Alistair laughed. "I doubt we could convince her to leave," he admitted. "It hasn't been announced yet, but she and Fergus will be celebrating their own marriage in a little under a month. I'm sure she would be pleased to have you there as well."

"Ah, wonderful!" Callista, to her credit, did appear genuinely delighted with this news. "Then I shall not have to set fire to any beds on this visit to prevent anyone from making a bad decision."

"I'm sorry?"

For a moment, his mind spun. _Set fire to any beds? But that was ..._ His eyes narrowed at her laughing smile.

"That was you?" he demanded, shock swiftly giving way to amusement of his own. " _You_ set fire to my palace?"

"I set fire to the empty bedroom in your palace when I knew Rosamunde was dallying," Callista corrected him. "It was not my intention to have so many of us incapacitated by the smoke, but it all turned out well in the end."

"You ... there was no ... we thought it was an assassin!" he protested, but even he knew protesting so long after the fact was ridiculous. He let out a full laugh, shaking his head. "Remind me never to cross you, Callista. I happen to be rather attached to my own bed, thank you."

"Darling, _your_ bed is now Felicita's bed, and I will never set fire to it unless you do something heinous to her," she assured him, patting his hand with an impish grin. She turned, taking the hand of her companion - a petite woman who shared the same warm coloring as her, all dark hair and bold eyes. "Your majesty, allow me to introduce to you my wife, Phebe Acorta."

"It's a pl-" Alistair abruptly stopped as his mouth caught up with his ears. "Your _wife?"_

Again, Callista laughed, thoroughly enjoying befuddling the king and keeping his mind off his own wedding on the morrow.

"Indeed, Alistair, my wife," she confirmed, raising Phebe's hand to her lips to kiss the other woman's palm. "A condition of my attending your charming wife contest - I was to comport myself as a true lady of Nevarra, and if I failed to gain your favor, I would be permitted to marry the woman I love."

Again, Alistair felt his mouth working silently as he processed this, but for once, Anora's less-than-patient reminders to think faster paid off. He snapped his mouth shut, and smiled with genuine pleasure.

"I had no idea," he told her, bowing to the married women in delight. "It does explain a fair amount, though."

This drawling comment drew a low laugh from Phebe. "She delights in being mischievous, your majesty," she said, her voice a pleasantly low counterpoint to her wife's more strident tones.

"I think she's rubbed off on a few of the ladies of my court, Lady Phebe," Alistair replied, his smile so true now as to crinkle his eyes as he glanced between them. "May I offer my congratulations on your marriage? And tell you that I am _very_ pleased not to have come between true lovers."

"Thank you, your majesty." Phebe inclined her head to him, both women almost glowing in their own satisfaction at finally being allowed to live their lives with the one they loved.

Lady bumped Alistair's leg, drawing his attention toward the steward, who was standing nearby and looking distinctly awkward. Actually ... Alistair's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he considered the man. Not awkward; the man looked offended and disgusted. And unfortunately that could only mean one thing. This particular member of the staff had somehow managed not to adapt to the inclusive policy. The king sighed, bowing to the ladies once again.

"Do excuse me," he apologized. "I have to educate my steward on his manners once again. You are very welcome, both of you."

Callista smiled and nodded, already pulling Phebe away to locate Ceri and get all the gossip Ciara hadn't managed to impart yet before her wife could make her curtsy to the departing king. Alistair let his gaze linger on them for a moment, pleased with their obvious happiness, and a little envious of the way they were so openly loving to one another. _Tomorrow,_ he promised himself, _and every day after, that will be me and Fabs._ But for now, he had a slightly less pleasant conversation to have with an unfortunately bigoted human in a position of minor authority.

The steward bowed as he approached, but didn't get the chance to open his mouth.

"Stamford, if you have sent our Dalish guest to the servants' entrance, it will go very hard with you," Alistair told him sternly. Oh, yes, he knew this man's opinions _very_ well.

Stamford's mouth hung open for a moment before he pulled himself together. "Sire, she is not the sort of person who -"

"She was invited to join us for the wedding and the celebrations," his king said with a frown. "Find her, apologize to her, and escort her here, if you please. And after that, remove yourself from these proceedings. I will not have my guests treated so rudely just because _you_ refuse to move with the times."

He held the man's disapproving stare until Stamford remembered his place, offering a fresh bow before stalking away. He had no doubt that the apology would be perfunctory and not at all sincere, but at least he knew the man would give the apology in person. With luck, the First would not be too offended.

"I doubt she will hold it against you, your majesty," a low voice said to his right.

Alistair turned, surprised to find Inquisitor Lavellan standing by his side. Doshiel was a quiet man, but he saw everything and heard more. It should have come as no surprise that he would notice this particular interaction and guess at its purpose.

"I should have had him replaced with someone else when I noticed he was the steward on duty." Alistair sighed, shaking his head. "You truly do not think she will take against all of us for his bigotry?"

Doshiel's rare smile flickered into view for a brief moment. "Ghilan'Elgar has no patience with those who discriminate at a whim, but delights in those who choose to integrate," he assured the king. "She will not hold an entire race responsible for the actions of even the majority. Deshanna is a very good teacher of tolerance."

"Ghilan'Elgar?" Alistair repeated in confusion.

"A title given to her many years ago," Doshiel explained. "She always was a mischievous child."

Alistair felt himself smile. "Oh, of course," he said belatedly. "You are of her Clan."

"I am no longer of Clan Lavellan, but I have been permitted to keep the name," the Inquisitor said quietly. "You need not fear reprisals, your majesty. She came at your invitation, and very well done that was, too."

Despite himself, Alistair responded to the praise from the older man with a warm glow in his heart. He had lived almost all his life with little genuine praise from anyone; to have this stern, quiet elf approve of his actions was an uplifting experience.

"Will you stay and meet her with me?" he asked on a whim, watching as the Inquisitor's eyes brightened with pleasure at the invitation.

"I would very much like that, your majesty." Doshiel glanced back toward his former companions - Josephine, Leliana, Dem - all chatting very earnestly about one thing or another. "I do not think I will be missed."

"I am sure you are missed whenever you are absent," Alistair commented, but said no more on the subject. He could tell that the relationship between the Inquisitor and his ambassador was rife with tension - not between the couple, but all over them in the presence of many others who might not approve of an elf and a human making a life together.

Thankfully, he was saved from making any further comment by the reappearance of Stamford, this time escorting a small elven woman into the king's presence. She was petite in a way Alistair had only really seen in Demelza - small, yes, but not a smallness that declared any kind of weakness; dusk-dark skinned, wide amber eyes, her vallaslin shimmering in pale green at her forehead and chin. Unlike other Dalish elves he had met, she also wore make up - bold teals that painted her eyelids and lips.

"Namari Lavellan, your majesty," Stamford introduced her, and swiftly left before Alistair could humiliate him in front of the Dalish woman.

"First, I am so very sorry for my steward's bigotry," Alistair began. "He should not have been allowed to greet you."

Namari Lavellan offered him a surprisingly whimsical smile. "No harm done, majesty," she told him, her voice light and warm. "Thank you, for remembering the Dalish in your celebrations, though I do not believe Clan Lavellan has ever been to Ferelden."

Alistair's smile was a little awkward. "I could not find Lanaya or her clan," he admitted, "and I did not intend to send men searching for them. But I was directed to your Keeper by the Inquisitor, and I am very glad you have chosen to join us. I appreciate the danger of such a journey."

"Ah, yes, the Inquisitor." Namari tilted her shining eyes toward Doshiel, and something passed between the two elves that the human in their midst could not grasp. Then she laughed, all but bouncing forward to embrace the stern elder of her clan. "Deshanna will be so pleased to know you thrive, _hahren_."

Chuckling, Doshiel hugged her tight for a moment before releasing her. "I do, _da'len_ , and happily. It is a pleasure to see you so unchanged by the violence you have endured."

"Your assistance saved us at the critical moment," Namari answered him. "Just as well, really, or I would have come to Skyhold and frozen you to a wall."

The Inquisitor laughed. "With Ilvin and Eliana's help, no doubt," he agreed easily enough.

Alistair cleared his throat a little awkwardly, aware that he was just wallpaper to a warm reunion at this point.

"Forgive me, there are others I should speak with," he said, inclining his head to both Lavellans with a smile. "You are very welcome to Denerim, First Lavellan. My councilors will make certain your rooms are comfortable." He was about to turn away when he remembered something else. "Oh, and the Divine would like to speak to you about tomorrow's ceremony."

Namari blinked, seemingly both surprised and impressed. "I will make the _Inquisitor_ introduce me, then, majesty," she assured him with a merry smile. "Thank you."

Stepping away, Alistair glanced down at Lady and came to an abrupt decision. He wasn't exactly needed during this admittedly boring afternoon of just marking time until dinner, and Cormac was under orders not to let him work on anything that wasn't absolutely urgent until after he returned from his brief honeymoon. His guests all knew each other, one way or another. And that sense of agitation was back.

"Come on, Lady," he said to his mabari. "I need to be outside."

The beautiful mabari huffed in agreement, turning to lead him toward the door and away from his mingling guests, only some of whom seemed to notice his departure. But no one stopped him. After all, they could sympathize with a bridegroom at a loose end the day before his own wedding. Those who knew him best also knew that, while he was glad to have so many people he could legitimately consider friends close at hand, Alistair was often easily overwhelmed when he allowed himself to relax into their company. Too many at once, and he lost all ability to hold a conversation with people who had known him for years. So there was no objection to the king slipping out of sight for a short while, finding his balance again in the company of his favorite hound.

There might have been a _few_ objections if they'd known where his feet took him. Certainly there was little in the way of dignity when it came to the King of Ferelden standing in a rose bed outside the window that looked into a private suite, where the King and Queen of Antiva were housed, his eyes fixed with longing adoration on the sweet sight of his betrothed. She was so beautiful, and so good - too good for him, in his opinion. And seeing her there, sat between her parents as they talked together ... Alistair could not help a flare of guilt for the fact that, in asking her to marry him, he had also asked her to give up so much. That she had said yes without a second thought did not enter his mind. Left on his own to anticipate his wedding without the distraction and reassurance of her presence, his mind turned to all the negative ways his love impacted on her life.

"You know, tomorrow night you will have to do much more than just stare at her."

Alistair whirled around, catching his foot on the rose bush and stumbling onto the path as Lady launched herself toward the source of that familiar voice. The mabari barked, her tail wagging happily as a slender figure stepped out from behind one of the trees, dropping to one knee to greet her.

"Zevran, you _have_ to stop sneaking up on me when you come to Denerim!" Alistair protested defensively. "One of these days, I might instinctively yell for the guards, and they're expensive to replace!"

Zevrain Arainai, another legend in his own lifetime who had the good fortune to be friends with the King of Ferelden, let out a familiar chuckle as he rose to his feet. The Antivan elf never seemed to change; perhaps a little more scarred in places, but still as smooth and confident as ever.

"I am glad your opinion of my martial skill has improved, my friend," he answered, offering a hand to clasp Alistair's forearm in a friendly greeting. "You did not truly think I would miss seeing you married to the Rose of Antiva, did you?"

"I did wonder if you could take the time out of your hectic schedule to honor us with a visit, yes," Alistair admitted in amusement. "Quite a few of our friends have managed it, after all."

Despite their decidedly awkward relationship during the Blight, he had come to consider Zevran a good and loyal friend over the years, deeply grateful many times over for the spy network the assassin had put in place for him shortly after his coronation, and always glad to see the elf return for however long he chose to stop-over in Ferelden.

"Ah, the delicious Divine and her heroic lady-friend are both here, so I hear," Zevran countered in his cheerful way. "And are they still as fiery as ever?"

"Dem will still kick you down the Chantry steps if you push your luck," Alistair confirmed. "I think Leliana has people to do that for her these days."

"It will be good to see them. But!" Zevran paused, eyeing Alistair with that infuriatingly knowing grin of his. "We are here to witness the marriage of our dear friend to a most worthy lady - that shall be the object of our discussions. Tell me, how much liquor can you handle before your hangover becomes truly terrible?"

"How much ... what are you planning?" Alistair asked, suspicion filling his eyes.

Zevran simply laughed. "You must celebrate your impending husband-hood with friends and wine!" he declared. "I hope you have been paying attention to Sal's lessons at the Pearl, my friend, or you may find yourself outclassed in your marriage bed."

At this, confused already, Alistair felt his mind shudder to a halt even as his ears began to burn. _Is he saying what I think he's ..._

"I don't care if she's already ... been wooed," he informed the elven assassin, only to be cut off with another warm laugh.

"Oh, no, my friend, I am sure she is as woo-less as you were those long years ago," Zevran assured him. "But Antivan women ... they are a breed apart. _Very_ well-educated. I will not spoil the surprise for you, Alistair. I look forward to hearing the creation of an heir."

"Maker's breath ... no. Absolutely not, there will be no ... hearing of what happens when ... that is ..." Alistair huffed out a swift breath, his face crimson with embarrassment. "Wine, you say? Let's find the wine."

"A wise decision, my friend."

Zevran patted his back in a friendly manner, both of them turning away from the window to return to the palace proper, and the friends still mingling inside. There would be plenty of time to look at Fabs - the rest of his lifetime, in fact. And Zevran, for all his teasing and wickedness, was a good friend to have at hand the night before a wedding.

"Come," the assassin declared as Alistair lead him into the palace, full of friendly mischief for the night ahead. "Let us drink. And I shall tell you all about the wonders of the noble virgins of Antiva."

_Maker's breath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of [fabula_prima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabula_prima/pseuds/fabula_prima); Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of [SavvyLittleMinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavvyLittleMinx)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of [fabula_prima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabula_prima/pseuds/fabula_prima); Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of [SavvyLittleMinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavvyLittleMinx); Kira Mahariel belongs to [Katieee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katieee/pseuds/Katieee); Kallak Brosca appears courtesy of [ironbullsmissingeye](http://ironbullsmissingeye.tumblr.com/); Eirlys Amell appears courtesy of [ladymdc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymdc); Maeve Aeducan appears courtesy of [Solverne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solverne/pseuds/Solverne); and Solona Amell appears courtesy of [skyholdherbalist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyholdherbalist/works)! Also, huge thank you to [inquisition-dragonborn](https://inquisition-dragonborn.tumblr.com/) and [fade-touched-obsidian](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/fade-touched-obsidian) on tumblr for helping me with the selections from the Chant of Light!

Princess Felicita Amalia Braulia Salome Campana of Antiva looked at her reflection, and barely knew herself.

Her raven-black hair had been left long for the most part, with only a simple braid crown encircling her head and woven with seed pearls to hold the curled mane out of her face. A simple string of pearls encircled her throat, a teardrop of ruby hanging from that string to grace her skin just above the swell of her breasts. Matching pearls adorned her ears with the glimmer of matching rubies. And the gown itself ...

The elves of Denerim had outdone themselves.

Despite the disgust of human tailors and seamstresses, the princess had insisted that her wedding garments be designed and made by the elves of Ferelden. After all, she was a human; the crown was being crafted by the surfacer dwarves of Ferelden;it was only right that the elves should have a hand in the making of their queen. The call had gone out across the land - skilled seamstresses from many alienages made the often treacherous journey to the capital to join their labor to those already hard at work on the gown the Antivan princess would wear to become a wife and queen. Everything they requested was provided, from Antivan satin to Nevarran silk thread, to soft white hide from Orlais, and fine ruby and salt crystal beads from Rivain. Alistair had been so fascinated by these requests that he had belatedly asked the elves to make his wedding garments as well, enthralled by the variety and intricacy of the work being done well below the generous budget he had insisted be set aside to pay for both the materials and the labor. Indeed, the excess would still be paid out - a generous, unexpected bonus for the elves who had put so much into the beauty they had created.

What Fabs now wore was a true masterpiece, the result of six weeks and forty elves' hard work. The chemise was sheer white silk; the stays constructed from layers of white silk brocade to create a stiffness that would support without overheating her in the latter hours of the celebration. Delicate silk stockings in crimson encased her legs to above the knee, fixed in place with embroidered ribbon garters; on her feet, fine-stitched slippers in soft white hide. But these were all details that were only for the princess and the seamstresses to know, intimate secrets of the wedding trousseau that others would never guess at - beautiful, but hidden by the glorious gown that covered them all.

A gown that bore echoes of Antiva in the full shoulders and fitted bands of the sleeves that flared at her wrists; a gown that embraced Ferelden in the snugly fitted bodice and the natural fall of a full skirt allowed to sway without the artificial plumping of petticoats so favored in Imperial circles. Ivory satin hugged the ample curve of her bosom and slender waist, flaring at her hips, embroidered in gold and silver silk with the royal mabari of Ferelden, the rose of Antiva, and the griffon of the Grey Wardens. Beads of ruby and salt-crystal accentuated the fitted bands of her sleeves and cuffs, and trimmed the long train that was yet to be affixed. The train itself was in matching ivory satin, long enough to skim the floor for several feet behind her, trimmed with those same sparkling precious beads, emblazoned with a single large golden mabari nestled in the petals of a ruby-red rose.

"Now then, highness, aren't you a picture?" Andra beamed at her mistress over her shoulder, fluffing the dark curls one last time before turning away to help Golda with the last piece.

A small hand inserted itself into Fab's palm, drawing her gaze down to Maria, who was to be her only bridesmaid. Indeed, the attendants for the bride were _very_ small in number for a royal wedding - just Ciara and Maria. Anora had been asked, but had laughingly declined and, of course, the princess had not had the first idea that Marguerite would be there at all. Maria had been garbed in dusky rose pink, all silks and satins trimmed with gold, a basket of white rose petals waiting for her to carry down the aisle of the great hall.

"You look very pretty, princess," the little girl told her solemnly.

She squealed as Fabs suddenly knelt to wrap her up in a warm embrace, woman and child giggling together for a long moment.

"You look very pretty too, Maria," Fabs promised her in return. "Alistair will be so happy to see you."

"And I got to sit next to Ceri and Ciara, because there’s no room for me next to the big chairs," Maria said in a confident tone, nodding to herself. She had been drilled on the details of the ceremony many times over, just as Fabs and Alistair had themselves.

"Yes, little one. And the ceremony may be very boring, but there will be a party afterward," the princess assured her. "And Alistair and I have a present for our very special guest who is also family."

Maria beamed happily, hugging her arms about Fabs' neck once again. "And you're going away after?"

"Tomorrow morning, yes. But only for a week." She raised one long finger to tweak the little girl's nose affectionately. "So you only have a week to throw wild parties and build a zoo in our absence."

The giggle that erupted from Maria was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the little bridal party - Ciara and Fulgeno, the princess' father. Marguerite had shown amazing forbearance in sacrificing her own peace of mind to remove the mother of the bride before anyone started crying. The unexpected, but most welcome, Orlesian guest had been instrumental in keeping the bride from flying into a panic around breakfast-time, too. Indeed, Marguerite had spent the morning treating everyone in the princess' rooms like skittish, wayward animals that needed a firm hand to be calm, and surprisingly, it had worked. Thanks to her, there had been no tantrums, no tears, and - most importantly - no last-minute declarations that the bride could not go through with this. Fabs knew she was going to have to do something spectacular for her friend to thank her for this morning's work.

"Shall we go and find our flowers, Maria?" Ciara suggested, holding out a hand to the excited little girl.

Her answer was a cheery nod as her hand was seized. Maria was likely more excited about the wedding today than anyone else was, but no one minded that so much. It was a joy to see her smiling and happy, unafraid of the future ahead of her because it would not contain judgment and cruelty from those who were supposed to care for her any longer. Fabs rose as the two of them swept away in their own wedding finery, catching the nod from the steward at the door. It was time.

Her father, King Fulgeno of Antiva, stepped forward, laying his hands on her shoulders as he smiled at his daughter.

"You look every inch the rose, _pequeña_ ," he told her, the pride in his gaze warming her heart as she beamed in response. "Your Alistair is a very lucky man."

"Thank you, Papa."

She surged forward to embrace him once more, kissing his cheek as he chuckled. And for a moment, Fabs faltered. This was her last embrace with her father as his little girl, the last time she would be just his daughter. In just a few hours, she would be a wife, her first loyalty no longer to her father but to her husband. The thought carried more pain than she had thought it might. But Fulgeno seemed to know the moment that pain struck, drawing back to tap the end of her nose, as he had done so many times in her childhood.

"Ah, ah, _pequeña_ ," he told her warningly. "No tears. You have love - the love of your father, and the love of your husband. I can see no circumstance where we will ever ask you to choose between us. Now, stand straight for the last piece to be put in place."

Fabs laughed a little, glancing over her shoulder as Andra and Golda approached, their arms full of embroidered satin - the train that needed to be attached before she was permitted to show herself publicly. It was just a blessed relief that she would be able to take it off soon after the wedding; it was _heavy_.

"You always know what I am thinking, Papa," she accused him, straightening her back to allow better ease for her assistants to work.

Golda's hands gathered her hair carefully, and Andra settled the train at her shoulders, neatly pinning it in place with a pair of silver brooches - griffons, for her beloved Alistair's Grey Wardens. Both women stepped back, spreading the train over the floor, their smiles bright and proud not only of the woman who would soon be their queen, but of their honored role in preparing her for these moments.

" _Espléndido_ ," Fulgeno declared, his gesture taking in not only his daughter, arrayed in ivory, gold, and silver, but also the blushing ladies who had taken such pains to prepare her this morning.

"Thank you," Fab added, twisting to look at Andra and Golda. "Truly. I do not know how to begin to thank you."

"Just you have a happy day," Andra told her, Golda still being a little in awe of the princess who had brought so much sunshine into Denerim palace in just a few short months. "And next time I see you, I shall be so proud to call you _your majesty_."

"I hope I shall always make you proud," the princess answered softly, laughing as the two maids, elf and human, scoffed at the thought that she could ever disappoint them.

She turned back to her father, smiling at the vague incredulity in his eyes - servants in Antiva were certainly not as plain-spoken or forthright as they were in Ferelden. But he said nothing to embarrass the two women, glancing up as the steward opened the door. Fab straightened her shoulders, taking her father's arm as they moved toward the doorway and the wide staircase beyond. The train spread across the floor behind her for several feet, drifting down the stairs in her wake with only the barest of tugs against the brooches that held it secure to her shoulders. It truly was a masterpiece of tailoring.

The hum of voices within the Great Hall rose as they reached the ground floor antechamber, where Ciara and Maria were waiting. By tradition, the little bridesmaid was carrying a basket of rose petals, clearly looking forward to covering the aisle to the dais in them as she lead the procession. They had already anticipated the natural fear Maria might feel in walking through the Great Hall first, hence the fact that Anora and Callista were going to be clearly visible along the aisle. Having a couple of familiar friendly faces to focus on as she passed by would keep Maria from feeling overwhelmed before she reached the dais and Alistair, and could find her seat next to Ceri in the front row.

The steward bowed to the King of Antiva and his daughter. "With your permission, your majesty?"

Fulgeno smiled. "Let us begin."

Beyond the doors, heralds blew their fanfare trumpets, announcing the arrival of the bride. Fabs could hear the rustle as men and women rose from their seats to look back at the doors swinging open to reveal little Maria, ward of the crown of Ferelden, all but skipping forward, tossing handfuls of her rose petals ahead of herself as the gentle tone of the mixed minstrel band played a familiar Andrastian hymn. Moments later, Ciara followed, but all eyes remained turned toward the open doors, and the princess who was soon to become a queen.

Nerves settled over the bride in a gentle rush, bright color flushing her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on her father's arm, softening only when he covered her clenching grip with his other hand. Her murmured apology was gently deflected with a squeeze of his hand and another gentle smile, a last nod before they began to walk forward, traversing the first few steps to the central aisle before turning to face the grand dais and the worthies awaiting them there.

The sunlight poured in through the high set windows, lancing down in sharp rays of soft gold over the rich blue of the carpet that adorned the aisle itself, illuminating the king and his daughter as he escorted her toward her new life. A wide circle of that same golden sunlight shone down on the honor guard that stood at the foot of the steps to the dais - Grey Wardens, there to honor their brother on this rare day for one of their order. She had met them all the day before - Kira Mahariel, a Dalish elf whose red hair blazed in the sunlight; Kallak Brosca, a fierce-looking dwarf with a surprisingly gentle manner; Eirlys Amell, a quiet human mage who seemed to radiate calm; Maeve Aeducan, a former princess among dwarves, her well-earned confidence shining through; Solona Amell, another human mage, a little more warily withdrawn than her comrades; and Demelza Tabris, bright grin shining, murmuring her orders to her fellow Wardens. In a single motion, weapons were drawn and raised high, an arch of blades for the bride to pass beneath in order to reach her groom, their brother in arms.

And there he was, her Alistair, resplendent in crimson velvet trimmed with gold, his eyes fixed to hers as she made her way toward him. Her nerves faded away, soothed by the smile that made his handsome face stunning and urged an answering smile from her, bright and warm and loving, heedless of anyone who saw how much she adored this man who was about to make her his wife. She barely even noticed the crown on his head, barely heard the murmur of the nobility behind her as she and her father reached the honor guard of Wardens.

How had it come to this? What had she done to be so blessed as to gain the love of a good man who needed her love almost more than he desired it? To be invited to share his life in a role he had not been born to, to be welcomed into his heart almost without thought? Yet no matter how unworthy she might feel, Fabs _knew_ Alistair loved her. She could see it in the glimmer of his earthen eyes, in the tilt of his smile; feel it in the gentle tremor of his touch as he took her hand to lead her up onto the dais, in the warmth of the kiss he pressed to her knuckles as she released a little of her faded nerves in a soft giggle.

"You are so handsome, _mi amor_ ," she whispered to him, gratified to see him blush to the tips of his ears as he grinned in delight at the compliment.

"You beat me to it," was his whispered complaint. "I was supposed to tell you how handsome you are." He blinked, realizing what he had said. "Beautiful. You're beautiful, not ... Maker's breath, why did I have to becoming a raving idiot _now?"_

Swallowing down her laughter behind her smile, Fab leaned into him, squeezing his hand. "You are yourself, my darling," she murmured, as the hymn came to a close. "There is no one else I would rather stand here with."

His answering grin was all she needed to whisk away the last of those nerves, to know that this was where she was meant to be. Her whole world was in that smile, that beaming expression of incredulous, loving delight that she was standing with him and about to make vows that would bind them together for life, oblivious to the faces watching them, the indulgent smiles on the faces of friends and family, the quiet respect from allies, the unspoken resentment from those who had originally had other plans for their king.

"Are we ready?" a soft voice asked from nearby.

Fabs blushed a warm shade of rose as she tore her eyes from the king of her heart, embarrassed to belatedly realize she was keeping the Divine waiting. Surprised, too, to find the First of Clan Lavellan standing with Divine Victoria, but pleased at this inclusion. Leliana's smile was forgiving as the couple before her straightened their expressions, turning a little more to face the woman who would join them in the Maker's eyes.

Chuckling, Alistair squeezed his bride's hands, nodding to the old friend before him. "Ready and waiting."

Leliana beamed a benevolent smile, raising her hands. Fabs felt the full attention of the entire hall turn to them, and the woman who held the Chantry in the palm of her hand.

"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here to witness the joining in marriage of two good hearts, an alliance of like minds in the formal bonds of love. Love is the gift of the Maker, a force that binds us despite our differences. You have come together today so that Andraste may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Maker. Andraste, who is herself the Bride of the Maker, shall strengthen you both, that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity."

Namari Lavellan then spoke from the Divine's shoulder, the lilt of her voice carrying with ease to drown out the few grumbles from the mostly human gathering.

"A good marriage must be created," she told them, speaking only to Fabs and Alistair, despite the hall full of people. "It is standing together and facing the world. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is not only marrying the right person - it is _being_ the right partner. Love is a good beginning. The gods will smile upon it."

Fabs felt Alistair's pleasure at including a Dalish blessing in their wedding, and her own heart swelled with pride for the king who had simply asked a Dalish elf to bless his marriage, rather than asked for permission to do so from the many humans in his court who would have argued against it. Integration, racial and religious tolerance, an end to superficial division between peoples; these were all so close to his heart, a lesson learned in his few years as a Warden and brought over to his tenure as the King of Ferelden. No one within his borders need fear that their king did not care for them, no matter their race. It was simply one more reason to love the man beaming down at her in these moments, as the Divine's voice floated over their heads once again.

“In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I offer the blessing of Andraste to this promised pair. As Andraste knew the love and duty of marriage to a mortal man, may you share in her faith and fidelity; and as she knew bliss as the Maker’s chosen Bride, may you, too, find joy in your union."

Before the eyes of the Fereldan nobility, as well as the unique guests invited from all walks of life, Divine Victoria took the hands of King Alistair Theirin and Princess Felicita Campana into her own grasp.

"Alistair, you have chosen to wed this woman in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor her as your lawful wife, as long as you both shall live?”

Fabs let her gaze return to Alistair without even a moment of hesitation, unable to disguise her smile as he turned her hand in his grasp, pressing her palm over his heart. She could feel the steady beat within his chest, the way it thudded just a little faster as he drew in his breath to speak.

"I swear," he declared, "unto the Maker and Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

Somewhere behind him, Fabs heard Maria let out a cheer, tilting her head to let the child see her laughing smile as she shushed herself in acute embarrassment at having broken the reverential silence. Ceri was chuckling as the little girl hid her face against the Kirkwaller's shoulder, the ripple of amusement sweeping through the hall quietly before Leliana raised her hands for silence.

"Felicita, you have chosen to wed this man in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor him as your lawful husband, as long as you both shall live?”

What could she say? Fabs' heart was throbbing in her chest as she looked into Alistair's eyes, never more certain of anything in her life than she was of the decision she had made that had brought her to this moment in time. The official words felt strange and unwieldy in her mouth, but they were the only ones she could use in this time and space. There would be time enough for softer words ... a lifetime, in fact.

"I swear unto the Maker and Holy Andraste," she said, feeling her voice tremble in the ringing stillness around them, "to love this man for the rest of my days."

There was a pause as they held one another's gaze, knowing that there was a recitation looming that could easily become utterly unintelligible to anyone listening if they didn't concentrate. Fabs could feel herself trying not to giggle, though whether it was nerves or the sheer release of knowing that they were almost there urging that laughter to rise, she couldn't say. But she could see Alistair's eyes dancing, his lips twitching, and she knew he was having just as much trouble as she was staying composed. It was all so _serious_ and _solemn_ , a far cry from the couple they made away from the eyes of the masses.

Thank goodness for the Divine. Leliana squeezed their hands sharply, pulling Fabs, at least, back from the brink of embarrassing giggles, giving the couple their cue to complete their vows together.This, at least, had been rehearsed - these words spoken in tandem, clear and calm, in matching cadence.

"For You are the fire at the heart of the world; And comfort is only Yours to give."

At Alistair's back, Fergus stepped forward, offering a band of gold engraved with roses into his king's free hand as Leliana released her grip on the couple. Fabs swallowed, her smile flickering brightly in response to his as the cool metal found a home at her knuckle to the accompaniment of his own chosen words, taken from the Chant of Light itself.

"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours." And though they may have been the sacred words of the Chant, on Alistair's lips, in this moment, they belonged to him alone.

As his hands encompassed hers, pulling her closer, Fabs couldn't help the surge of soft delight, eager for what now would come. From the corner of her eye, she saw Divine Victoria raise her hands in benediction.

“I bear witness, in the name of the Maker, and Blessed Andraste, whom He loves, that these vows are binding and lawful,” Leliana declared, and in her tone was a challenge to everyone here present. If anyone dared to raise an objection to the marriage completed before them, they would have to go through the Divine to do it. "May no one seek to tear them down, for they are made in faith and love.”

She lowered her hands, and for a moment, all was still. Only the small group on the dais could hear the soft benediction spoken in indecipherable elvhen, calling down a blessing on a royal pair who truly wanted to take the danger out of the lives of their subjects. As Namari's voice died away, Leliana's smile brightened.

"Your majesty ... you may kiss your wife."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do that for me?" Alistair asked with a playful glimmer, beaming as Divine Victoria spluttered out a very inappropriate laugh and had to turn away for a moment.

Fabs poked him with a low laugh, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. She felt his hands slide to her back beneath the hang of the train, her own curling her fingers to the soft velvet of his sleeves as he bent his head to hers. Smiling lips touched smiling lips, and she felt, more than heard, the sudden eruption of polite applause and dignified cheering in the hall. And beyond that, an echo from outside the palace itself, as the crowds in the square took up the sound of celebration with greater enthusiasm. The King was finally a married man. Very soon, they would meet their new Queen.

Alistair's lips moved as he gently drew back from their first married kiss, his breath warm against her mouth as he whispered, "I love you, Fabs."

She beamed up at him, certain she must be glowing with happiness. " _Te amo, mi amor._ My lord and king."

He groaned at that teasing addition to her own declaration, kissing the tip of her nose as she giggled. "Just you wait," he warned. "A whole day of wearing the crown is going to give you a headache as bad as mine used to be. You have to train your head not to feel it."

"Oh, I am very glad I shall have you to train me," she countered in amusement, watching as he realized he was preaching to the choir, somewhat. His expression of slow, sheepish comprehension was adorable.

"Princess," he said, nodding. "Right. You know about that."

"Only a little, my darling."

She leaned close to kiss his cheek, drawing in a slow breath. They were married. She was Alistair Theirin's wife; he was her husband. And in just a few moments ... 

She glanced up at a scraping sound to her left. The coronation throne was being set down by a pair of guardsmen on the dais, in front of the traditional thrones themselves. Others were coming forward with velvet cushions on which were set the queen's ring and the newly crafted crown, and quite suddenly Fabs knew that this was _real_. In a matter of minutes, she would be Queen of Ferelden, crowned by her husband and raised to his rank, a ruler in her own right.

Alistair seemed to sense her moment of realization, squeezing her hand gently as he turned to lead her to the coronation throne. The Divine had stepped away, no longer an active part of this ceremony but simply a witness. Namari, too, had stepped down from the dais. The Grey Wardens stood at the foot of the dais, not subjects but willing witnesses to the crowning of a queen.

As she sat slowly on the uncomfortable throne, Fabs' gaze found Marguerite and Josephine in the crowd for the briefest of moments, biting down a laugh at the encouraging nods and smiles her friends threw toward her. She flicked a glance toward Maria, finding the little girl holding tight to Ceri and Ciara's hands, her expression intense as she watched Alistair pick up the ring from the purple cushion presented to him. Across the hall, the silence fell once more, all eyes turning to the crowning of a queen.

"Felicita," he intoned, and she knew in an instant that Anora had been rehearsing him for this. "Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden, regardless of race or creed, in accordance with the laws and statutes of this land? Will you, in your power, give justice and mercy to the supplicant in all judgments? And will you serve this land at my side, as wife and queen, and guiding hand?"

She raised her chin, looking out over the hall, still able to hear the jubilant cheers of the people gathered outside celebrating the marriage only just sealed with a kiss. The oath was solemn and binding, yet it was not a difficult oath to swear. She believed in Alistair's vision for his country, in the equality of all the races if they could possibly encourage it. It would be an honor to help guide Ferelden to a new era of prosperity and tolerance.

"I solemnly swear so to do."

She raised her right hand as he reached down, feeling the significantly heavier weight of the queen's royal signet ring find its resting place against the knuckle of her second finger - a weight she would have to grow accustomed to over the months and years to come. Alistair's callused fingers gripped hers for a moment, drawing her eyes to his in time to catch the reassuring flicker of his wink before he turned away once more to lift the crown above her head. A more delicate version of the king's crown, the surface dwarves of Ferelden had done themselves proud with the sparkling gold and exquisitely polished rubies that Alistair now held aloft.

"Felicita Theirin, in the name of the Maker and Andraste, before the Divine and the eyes of the court, I crown you Queen of Ferelden," the king declared, gently setting the crown onto the braid that looped her head and had been settled there just for that purpose.

He took her hand once more, raising her to her feet, bending to brush a tender kiss to her lips once more, wreathed in smiles. They had made it through the ceremonies. Now all that remained was the celebrations. With a last kiss to her forehead, Alistair turned to present Fabs to her new court. The herald's staff thumped on the flagstones, calling for a last moment of silence.

"All rise, and honor King Alistair and Queen Felicita of Ferelden. Long may they reign!"


	4. Chapter 4

"To the King! To the Queen!"

Cups were raised, smiles were shared, and Alistair could have sworn he had never been happier than he was today. The feasting hall in the palace was livelier, happier, than he had ever seen it. Not even the celebration after the archdemon's death had been so bright as this, with nobles he could have sworn didn't actually approve of him at all bowing and raising their cups in cheerful toasts to the long future of his marriage. And for once he didn't care that their congratulations might not be wholly genuine. He was happy, for the first time in years. That made all the difference.

Beside him, Fabs was bright and shining, her hand curled into his even as she spoke with Anora. Both women were animated in their discussion, a sight that warmed his heart. He was glad to see that his wife - and how he loved to just _think_ those words - that his wife had good friends among the Fereldan nobles already. She was so beautiful. _I am a lucky man,_ he thought to himself, smiling as he absently raised her hand to his lips.

The kiss drew her attention back to him, her body leaning toward his in their carven seats as she smiled. Those soft eyes of hers were so warm, touched with a playful tenderness he could hardly believe was for him.

"Yes, _mi amor?"_

"Oh, nothing," Alistair said breezily, grinning at the soft laugh she gave him for humming those words against her fingers. "Just reflecting on the day."

Something wicked flickered in her gaze as she leaned closer, touching a kiss to the corner of his mouth that seemed to burn for a moment.

"Perhaps you should be reflecting on the night to come," she murmured, winking at him with impish mischief.

Well, Zevran _had_ warned him that Antivan noblewomen weren't sent into marriage with their eyes closed. He hadn't expected his Fabs to be able to summon up _quite_ that level of innocently wicked teasing with just a few words and a look, however. Alistair cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly in his chair under her smile. _Surely she doesn't actually know what that look does to me?_

"Are you uncomfortable, your majesty?" Fab asked softly, pressing her smile to his palm in an unexpectedly open-mouthed kiss.

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "You're a sly minx, your majesty," he informed her, leaning close to let his breath play against her ear as he whispered. "And you will enjoy being punished for it later."

To his delight, his wife blushed, displaying a rather sweet innocence in the same breath as a husky laugh for his ears alone. _Sweet Maker, I am not going to survive my own wedding night._ But he was grinning, pressing a gentle kiss to the dimple in her left cheek before drawing away.

"So, would this be a bad time to ask if I may dance with the beautiful queen?"

Alistair felt his grin fade just a little at the sound of Zevran's familiarly honeyed tones. There, in the back of his mind, was that annoying insecurity that quietly feared the affect the charming, confident assassin would have on his new wife. It wasn't that he didn't trust Fabs, not at all. It was more that a lifetime of being the second thought, at best, made him question why she would choose him over a man like Zevran.

Fabs, on the other hand, seemed utterly oblivious to these unnecessary worries racing through his mind, turning her eyes to Alistair with a hopeful smile. He forced himself to answer her smile, tilting her chin toward him to claim a slow kiss.

"Of course you may dance with him, sweetheart," he promised her, rewarded with a gentle nuzzle of her nose to his.

"I may dance with him, but it is _you_ I love," she murmured in answer, her thumb stroking his cheek as he flushed.

 _Not so oblivious, after all,_ he mused, nodding to Zevran as the Crow whisked Fabs away to the cleared space before the musicians. Alistair wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or alarmed that she had noted his insecurity, finally choosing to be pleased as he watched her laugh and dance among others in the hall to the beat of an old Antivan tune.

She was lovely, though he was clearly biased. The music was given over to a fiery tempo and sultry movement, but the dancers themselves were laughing and talking as they whirled about the floor. Alistair had to admit, Zevran was a good partner for Fabs in those moments, graceful and lithe, and swift enough to catch her as she whirled past. He wasn't entirely sure he would ever be able to partner her in a dance like that - at least, not in public. He might try it in privacy, if she was inclined to teach him.

"Your majesty."

He tore his eyes from the dancers, smiling to find Lady Marguerite Dujardin curtsying to him. One hand rose, waving away the formal pleasantries.

"There's no need for that," Alistair declared, waving her toward Fabs' empty seat. "Please, my lady, sit. Be comfortable."

Marguerite's gaze flickered to the seat he indicated, an amused denial of a smile touching her expression.

"With respect, your majesty, I will not sit in the queen's chair, and certainly not on her wedding day."

Alistair blinked, glancing at the chair itself for a moment before comprehension dawned.

"Oh, yes ... fair point." He offered up a sheepish grin, watching as she slipped to his other side to sit down. "Fabs is very happy to have you here, you know. I hope you'll visit us again."

"Oh, I should be delighted to visit whenever you feel you have time for me, your majesty," Marguerite assured him through her smile. "But I wished to thank you."

The shadow of confusion crossed his face, his head tilting curiously toward her.

"Thank me?"

"Yes." Marguerite's smile warmed as she spoke. "I have known your wife through letters and gifts for almost a decade. I have been privileged to be privy to her innermost thoughts and emotions. Yet I have never known her to be so open, so happy, as she is in your company. You have uplifted her heart just as she was losing any hope of a happy ending, and for that, Alistair, you will forever have my undying friendship."

As gratifying as her words were, Alistair found himself focusing on one part in particular.

"Losing hope?" he queried, glancing at the dancers with concern that faded into a grin at the sight of his wife and queen laughing with Zevran.

The Orlesian lady's smile softened as she followed his gaze.

"Indeed, yes. For a royal princess in Antiva to survive to her age and not be wed is nothing short of a miracle," she explained in a gentle tone. "If she had returned to Antiva, she would have been married off to one of the older merchant princes by now, whether she wished it or not. Such a marriage would be the only way to keep her from coming to the sharp end of her brother's ambitions for the throne."

Alistair stared at her in shock. "Her brother would have had her killed?"

"Not willingly, I do not think," Marguerite mused. "They are close, I believe. Felicita saved his life once, when she was young. But she is known to be her father's favorite child, and to be popular with the merchant princes as well. Her mere existence was a threat to his ambition ... up to the moment when you married her. Now he can be her brother once again, and not fear her being elected to the crown when their father dies."

"She did say something about not wanting to be the queen of Antiva," Alistair murmured, only now tying together all the disparate hints and clues peppered in Fabs' behavior and speech. She had been trying to tell him all this without stating it outright. "I should learn to pay closer attention when she is being cryptic."

Marguerite laughed, patting his arm. "I am sure she will delight in being a riddle for you to solve at such times," she promised him. "But perhaps it is time for you to claim your wife for a dance before she retires for the night? You cannot allow Master Arainai to have _all_ the fun, surely?"

Alistair blinked in surprise, glancing out through the tall window to take a look at the moon high over Denerim. _It's that late already. I never even noticed._ He grinned to himself as Marguerite curtsied and moved away. _Not long now before I'm well and truly married._ But the Orlesian lady was absolutely right - it was time he danced with his wife before they slipped away to their bedchamber to celebrate alone.

Rising to his feet, he felt the familiar tug of quiet embarrassment as the music stopped abruptly with the king's movement. The whole court revolved around what he was doing during festivities; it could be excruciating at times. Yet at this moment, he found it easy to set the embarrassment aside, his eyes fixing on the delicately flushed smile that adorned his bride's face as he approached her.

"Terribly sorry, old chap," Alistair told Zevran in an off-hand manner, "but I'm claiming my wife for our last dance of the evening."

Zevran chuckled at the deliberate display of nonchalance, only too happy to give up the queen's hand to her husband's grasp.

"Oh, I doubt this is your _last_ dance of the evening, Alistair," the Crow murmured teasingly as Alistair drew Fabs into his side with a smile. "But certainly the last with curious eyes to watch it."

Alistair cleared his throat as Fabs laughed, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out," he muttered, raising his head to nod to the musicians. "A _pavane_ , if you please, for my wife."

A smattering of applause crossed the hall as the music began, as the king and queen took their places alone in the middle of the milling group to dance the slow processional in celebration of their own marriage. Alistair could feel Fabs giggling under his arm as they began, lowering his lips to her ear with a smile.

"If you keep laughing, Anora's going to accuse me of not knowing how to please a woman again," he warned, which only served to make Fabs laugh harder.

" _Cariño_ , why did you choose a _pavane?"_ she managed, sobering as she passed in front of him.

"What, you don't think my clumsy charms are graceful enough for it?" he asked with a grin, knowing perfectly well that graceful was not a word that could easily be applied to him.

She drew in a breath, pausing as her own smile lifted into a grin. "I think that Lady is more graceful than you when it comes to slow dances," she informed him.

Alistair chuckled, kissing her hand as he turned. "Then I should think it really is just as well that I don't have to move much during this dance, don't you?"

It took a moment for that to sink in, a moment in which he got to watch the comprehension dawn in the form of one of the most adorably suspicious smiles he had ever seen. Fabs rolled her eyes at him, unable to retaliate except with a kiss to his chin as she twirled under his arm to his other side.

"Very sneaky, your majesty."

"I'm glad you liked it, your majesty."

As they processed around the room, sharing a smile that was entirely their own, Alistair could hear the commentary from the nobles and friends who were watching them. Nobles who had supported him from the start telling those who had only just chosen to support him to mind their manners was always entertaining; better was the sound of Divine Victoria informing King Fulgeno of Antiva that if any harm came to the new Queen of Ferelden, she would personally deal with it. Demelza, nodding in agreement; Zevran, raising his glass in a teasing toast to the newlywed couple as they passed him by. Catching sight of Fergus stealing a kiss from Ceri in the shadow of the hearth; Callista's wicked wink from where she was wrapped in her own wife's arms; Ciara and Anora smiling brightly in their own distinct ways. Then there was little Maria, half-asleep but determined to stay up at least until Queen Felicita retired, clinging to Namari Lavellan's hand and demanding a step-by-step explanation of what it was like when Dalish elves got married. The Dalish First didn't seem to mind that the little girl had decided to cling to her, thank goodness, but perhaps tomorrow Maria could be convinced not to smother their Dalish guest too much.

The music slowed and faded, and Alistair bowed over Fabs' hand, feeling a sudden rush of nervous excitement as she rose from her curtsy with a tempting promise in her eyes. She drew close, close enough that he could smell the lemon and rose scent of her hair and skin, feel the heat of her breath on his lips.

"Do not keep me waiting too long, _cariño_ ," she whispered, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to his knuckles.

Alistair groaned softly, fighting against the urge to drag her close and steal her breath with the hungry kisses that had always been kept in check in days past. She was sweet temptation, and she was his at long last.

"I love you," he whispered back to her, drawing callused fingertips along the line of her jaw for just one self-indulgent moment.

To his delight, he felt her face warm beneath his touch, watching the blush creep over her cheeks as she clung to his hand for a long moment. Then she flashed him a sweet smile, drawing back at the touch of Anora's hand at her back. The Teryna of Gwaren smiled mysteriously at Alistair over his wife's shoulder.

"It is time to excuse yourself, your majesties," she suggested. "Preferably before your lingering looks grow too intimate for such a public setting."

Alistair bit back a complaint, knowing perfectly well that Anora could and _would_ smack his hand in front of all the nobles and guests if he grumbled about being sent to bed. And, if he was honest, he wasn't that upset about it. He would much rather spend what remained of the evening with his new wife than with the nobles who had known him far longer and still knew less about him than the smiling beauty on his arm.

"Well, in that case ..."

As Fabs kissed Anora's cheek, Alistair raised his hand for attention, smiling as the musicians stopped and every eye turned to him - eyes belonging to old friends, new friends, nobles and Wardens and elves and dwarves alike.

"Everyone, my wife and I ..." He trailed off, offering Felicita a rather goofy grin. "Actually, that's all I really wanted to say."

A ripple of indulgent laughter crossed over the hall, punctuated by a slightly dirtier laugh from the knot of Grey Wardens by one of the hearths. Alistair's grin deepened as Fabs leaned into his side, letting her hug his arm to her chest as she giggled.

"My wife and I are very pleased to have celebrated our marriage in the company of so many friends and allies," Alistair went on, taking a goblet from the servant who offered it. "I can honestly say that today has been one of the happiest of my life. And it's not over yet," he added in a smiling murmur to the young woman at his side, snickering as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Get on with it, cariño," vibrated into the kiss to the tune of her laughter, earning her a kiss to the tip of her adorable nose before he turned back to the company around them.

"That said," he declared, "as much as I like you all, you pale in comparison to the prospect of spending the evening alone with my wife. So make merry, and make a lot of noise, because we're leaving now."

It was Demelza's cackle of laughter that reached his ears first, swiftly joined by the laughter of everyone Alistair could confidently call friend. Then the Wardens, Fab's parents and friends, and finally the rest of the guests were offering chuckles - however forced in some cases - raising their hands to applaud as the King and Queen of Ferelden left the feasting hall arm in arm.

Fabs was still giggling when they reached the royal floor, the room that now belonged to them both.

"I cannot believe you said that," she declared in that warm laughing tone as Alistair pushed open the door, letting out a low squeak when he bent to lift her up into his arms.

"Wasn't I obvious enough?" he asked innocently. "Should I go back down and make it clearer?"

"No!"

Her denial came with a strong clutch of her arms about his shoulders, drawing another laugh from him as he kicked the door closed behind him. His nose touched hers, circled hers, breath mingling with hers as he felt her tremble just a little in his arms. The kiss seemed to last an eternity; a slow, tender exchange that brought him quite literally to his knees, setting her on the bed as he sank down.

"I love you, Felicita."

The words came without being bidden, murmured with absolute certainty, offered with almost disbelieving confidence that the sentiment was not only returned but embraced as fully as she physically embraced him. Her fingers teased through his hair, plucking the crown off his head to set it to one side, hers laid beside it a moment later. Then, and only then, did she draw him onto the bed with her, arching up to press a kiss to his lips that stole his breath in an instant. Her kiss, her hands, her arms ... Alistair had never felt anything so wonderful, so safe, so wholly _wonderful_ , as being in the arms of the woman he loved.

For years, he had resented his place in the world, his title as king and the duty that came with it. For years, he had lived isolated among so many, a leader constantly afraid to make the wrong decision. He had grown to hate the gold that encircled his head, and yet, without it, he would not now have a wife who loved him. Fabs might never know it, but she had raised up far more than a lonely man's spirits in loving him.

Finally, there was a rose in the crown of Ferelden, and the promise of little buds to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of [fabula_prima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabula_prima/pseuds/fabula_prima); Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of [SavvyLittleMinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavvyLittleMinx)! 
> 
> And the story is done! Thank you all so much for following along, and for being so patient with my struggle to get this last chapter out. There many be more stories for them in future, but for now, this is where we leave them. Huge thanks to all!


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